First Pitch
by fangsnitch
Summary: When Rusty joins the Thunder Clan's baseball team, he doesn't know what to expect. He knows that they're one of the best, but does that mean they can really beat out all the other teams?  All the Warriors cats as humans in a high school baseball team
1. Chapter 1

In an abandoned baseball field, seven minutes drive time from Bridgeville high school, two boys are sprawled about the pitcher's mound. Their breathing is heavy and labored from hours of practice, and with every exhalation there is a visible swirling of air from their lips. The freezing temperature, while not acceptable for real games, was well welcomed when the boys were hitting pop flies and letting grounders slide into their mitts, but the way it made their lungs burn when they inhale now makes them wish the sun were out in full shine.

One of the boys, a raven locked child nicknamed "Smudge," rolls onto his side, his breathing struggling to attain normal. "Look, Rusty," he says, locking his gaze with his fire haired friend, "I think it's a bad idea." Rusty, whose eyes are unfocused with fatigue, takes a moment to respond, momentarily forgetting what they were arguing about before.

_Oh, that's right, _he thinks, the conversation they had before practice coming back in a rush. _Smudge doesn't want me to go see that team's practice. _He brings his fists to his eyes and rubs, trying, albeit futilely, to rid them of the built up sweat.

"That's," he squints at his best friend, who is staring at him expectantly. He won't change his mind unless Rusty assures him for hours. But he doesn't have hours. He needs to get home and change before going to the practice.

"Smudge, it's just a practice; I don't understand why it's such a big deal. I'm not going to be doing anything but watching! Why are you so concerned?" he gulps in a rush of air, his breath all but gone from his body.

Smudge shakes his head, massaging the point between his eyes. "Henry," he answers, bracing himself for a barrage insults against his brother-in-law. Smudge is not disappointed.

He pops open an eye to find Rusty glaring at him, his face matching his hair entirely.

"Henry?" he asks incredulously, his top lip rising in contempt. "Henry, the guy our age, my ex- best friend, the guy who's dating my sister? He's the reason you're fighting this so hard?" He shakes his head, knitting his eyebrows together in a controlled rage.

Smudge feels a tinge of pain at Rusty's hatred. They had all been friends in middle school, back when Henry had been just invested in making the high school baseball team with them. But when they arrived in their freshman year, they discovered that the baseball program had been cut. Rusty and Smudge had been devastated, but they decided that they would keep prasticing together, and maybe then they would be good enough to do college ball.

But Henry stopped caring. And when he started dating Rusty's sister, Princess, their friendship was over. They had nothing in common but baseball, and that was a long gone hope.

Smudge still missed him though. They were the three musketeers, and now it was only him and Rusty, practicing two hours every day. It was not something Smudge had envisioned for himself and his best friend back in elementary.

Smudge quickly raises his hands up in the motion for Rusty to calm down. "Rusty, man, look. Just listen to me." he raises an eyebrow in question, and Rusty nods, though his jaw is still clenched and his arms are crossed.

"Okay, well Henry told me that-," Rusty doesn't let him finish.

"Henry is a known liar."

"Yes, well Henry had proof, okay? So shut up." Rusty shrugs his shoulders, barely able to contain the unresolved anger at Henry from boiling over. If his hair was in it's usual spiky position, and not weighed down with sweat, Smudge could've sworn he would've looked like a blazing campfire, complete with the crackling electricity that surrounds it.

"Alright. Henry told me that he went to one of their practices in eighth grade, when he was still interested in the game." Rusty lets out a short, chirping laugh.

"Yeah, and I bet he told you all the Thunder Clan beat him up, right?" Smudge shakes his head, resisting the urge to make fun of the team name "Thunder Clan." He thinks it's ridiculous, but he would never tell Rusty that. They're his favorite team in the district.

"No, he didn't." Rusty looks surprised as he hears Smudge's words, but he regains his stony expression after a second.

"Maybe they should have. He's too much of a rich pretty boy anyways."

"So are we, you know. The rich part, I mean," Smudge answers. Both of the boys live in the Twoleg area, where all the rich folks gather for the school year. The kids from the Thunder Clan team, even the whole school, all live near the forest. It isn't a nice place, but those who can't afford Twoleg houses move there.

Sometimes Smudge believes that Rusty wishes he isn't so wealthy, so he can move to Thunder high school and join their team. But he can't do that; they would never accept him. The loaded kids go to Bridgeville; everyone knows that.

Rusty shrugs his shoulders, so Smudge continues. "Henry said he saw some of the team beat up a kid from another school. He wasn't even a baseball player, but once they found out he went to Riverview they sprung on him." As Smudge talks, Rusty can feel the anger fading from his body. He's not angry at the boy in front of him. He just wants to get out of here and see his favorite team before they turn in for the night.

"Okay, look, Smudge," Rusty says, stretching to a standing position. His muscles scream, but he can't afford to sit here while the minutes tick by. _Time to man up_, he thinks. Smudge looks surprised at his friends calm demeanor. "I don't want to stand here with you, arguing about a boy I go out of my way to avoid. I know you're concerned about me and all, but I want to go. I_ need_ to go. Do you understand that?"

Smudge begrudgingly nods, defeat shadowing over his face. "Whatever." He raises and starts to walk back to his truck, but seems to think better of it and turns around for parting words to his friend. "Just try to make yourself look like a Thunder student, okay?"

Rusty nods enthusiastically, a smile stretching across his face. _Finally!_ He thinks, checking his watch. He only has ten minutes to get to the fields before the practice is over. _Oh well, no time for a change_, Rusty thinks, hoping with all his might that they will just mistake him for an elementary student.


	2. Chapter 2

Five minutes later, Rusty is positioned under the field's bleachers, looking more like a lurking reporter than fan. But Rusty isn't thinking about looking inconspicuous; he doesn't want anyone seeing his uniform. It doesn't matter to him, anyway, the way he looks. All he's focused on is the pitcher standing on the mound, his arm revved up for another throw.

Suddenly it's ripping at a breakneck speed towards the catcher, whose mitt is extended, eyes narrowed. Rusty gasps as the ball hits with a muffled thump that resonates around the field. He smiles. He has never pitched like that a day in his life and seeing someone his age doing that surprises him enough to cause a happy watering in his eyes.

As soon as it's been caught, the ball is returned to the pitcher. He raises his hat and scratches a spot on his head, and for a second Rusty catches a glimpse of stark gray hair. Weird, Rusty thinks, surprised that so many people on this team have oddly colored hair. One boy, a batter, has dark purple hair, and another has dark spiky locks striped with red. Even the coach has bright blue hair with a yellow star etched on one side. I_'d fit right in,_ he thinks, referring to his fire red hair.

Over the next couple of minutes Rusty watches, transfixed by the sounds of bats whizzing in the air and the coaches yelling intelligible things at the players. At one point a blazing gold haired man- presumably an assistant coach by the marks on his black jacket- turns his voice to the pitcher.

"Gray! Don't get lazy with your fastballs, alright? Same speed every time; think of this as a real game." The pitcher-Gray- nods, a look of admiration sparking in his eyes as he takes in the man's directions.

"Yes, sir," he says, swinging his gaze over to the stands. For a second Rusty feels as if the boy's eyes land on him, but as soon as he realizes this Gray is already sending another pitch towards his catcher, the ball hurtling at least 88 miles per hour. Rusty tries not to feel disappointed. It wasn't as if he wanted to be seen. That's why he's under here, in this damp, freezing death trap. Or that's what he tells himself, trying to calm his erratically beating heart.

A couple of seconds later the presumably main coach weaves her way through the many boy's on the team to a rock that stands just outside the fence. She climbs up to the top quickly, looking quite lithe. The only comparison Rusty can think up in his mind is to a cat. _She looks exactly like Misty_, he thinks, a picture of his dark blue furred housecat popping into his mind.

The coach inhales a large breath of air, and as she yells loudly, her voice reaches the stands clearly. "Okay, everyone; gather up." Every person on the field immediately freezes, and then turns their heads to their coach seconds later. A smile pops up on the pitcher as he sprints towards the rock, ball in hand.

Many of the older players don't look so excited, though, as seen by their slow lope to the high rock. _Maybe they're just tired._

And even though Rusty knows he promised Smudge that he would leave as soon as practice was over, he wanted to see what the coach had to say. He just needs to get closer.

Rusty lowers himself to his knees, placing his hands on the gum ridden concrete with a gag. This was not what he had in mind when he had arrived, but it seemed as if the only place he could hide and see the whole team in its entirety. Too bad he couldn't get in or out without walking.

He slips through a hole in the stands, barely passing. His body isn't very maneuverable in the fatigued state he is in, and he doesn't know if he could even do it in his best condition.

He rises uncomfortably, his muscles screaming, but he tries his best to ignore it. all that's important to him right now is all the time he's missing of the coach talking. He glances around, noticing for the first time that all the previous handful of reporters that had been there earlier were gone.

_I guess they don't stay for this part. _Rusty looks towards the rock and sees everyone gathered, looking fully engrossed in the blue haired coach's speech. He can faintly hear a hushed voice, but he can't make out the words. _Closer, just a bit closer._

He decides the dugout would be his best bet, its position the closest hiding spot to the rock. Without thinking about it too hard, he starts a jog to the dugout – although it's very close.

Keeping an eye on the rock at all times, he arrives quickly to the dugout. Rusty ducks down in an attempt to blend in, keeping his eyes fixed on the rock. He can make out many faces, and the words are almost crystal clear.

"… and I know you are all in distress about Redtail, but I can confirm that he isn't hurt or anything preposterous like that. The reason he wasn't here today is because he's switched teams." There are cries of outrage from many boys on the team, but one that doesn't look particularly sad is the boy he had seen earlier- the one with red stripes in his hair. In fact, it seems as if there is a small smile on his face, though it disappears quickly as the coach looks over to him.

"Tigerheart," _Tigerheart_? Rusty thinks with a laugh. What kind of name is that? _It's worse than Redtail! _"has told me that as of today, Redtail is now a coach at Bridgeville." Rusty is surprised as he hears the name of his school.

_Bridgeville? He wouldn't transfer there as a coach, not when there's no baseball team. She must be mistaken. _Rusty returns his gaze to the coach as she takes in the yells of her team.

"He went _where?"_

"Is he a rich now, huh? Too good for us?"

"That prissy school? They don't even have a team!" _exactly!_ _Well except for the prissy part, _Rusty thinks.

The coach nods and holds up her hands. The team immediately quiets down; their eyes now back to the coach's face.

"That ends today's practice. Now get a good night's sleep and prepare yourselves for early morning practice." Almost everyone nods, but Rusty can see that many of them have anger still in their eyes. They're furious at this Redtail, who had to have been their co-coach. Though Rusty is still confused as to why he would transfer to Bridgeville.

Because Rusty is so lost in thought, he doesn't realize until it is too late that the boy's have to come back to get their things. Their things in the dugout. The last thing he sees is a flash of gray hurtling at him.


	3. Chapter 3

All Rusty knows is that there is someone on top of him, a knee stuck in his back. He can't begin to think, let alone move. Rusty attempts to shift the pressure from his back, but it is pushed further and a voice sounds from above.

"What are you, hmm? River? Shadow?" someone asks, wrapping Rusty's arms around his back. Rusty shakes his head, confusion setting in his mind.

"N-no! What are you talking about?"

"You're a spy; we both know that. I just can't tell where you're from based on this ridiculous outfit." He flicks the collar of Rusty's old middle school uniform; one he had been wearing all through his high school years because of the no team rule. He can't have worn old workout clothes during practice, now could he? He did wish that he had enough time to change before coming, though. _Stupid Smudge_! He thinks, wriggling under whoever is sitting on him. It doesn't have any effect. "Now what school're you from?"

Rusty shakes his head again, desperately. Why does that matter? Nothing he says is going to change anything. This boy's going to think he's a spy no matter what! "I'm from-," as the word Bridgeville almost slips from his lips, Rusty realizes that might not be the best choice. _Redtail, or whatever his name is, transferred there for some reason. They already hate us for being rich. No telling what he'll do if I tell him._ _But then he'll really think I'm a spy_._ At least Bridgeville doesn't have a team!_

"Get off me!" he yells through gritted teeth, kicking his legs upward. The person sitting on top of him is startled, and is knocked off as a stray foot catches him in the cheek. Thinking it would be futile, the one word circulating through his mind is very welcome. _Yes!_

Rusty quickly scrambles to his feet, holding his hands out in front of him in a boxing position. Though not a seasoned boxer himself, Rusty is sure he can pop off a good one-two before the attacker knows what's happened. But he is so surprised by the person lying on the ground, cradling a split lip, that he has to command himself to close his dropping jaw. His raised hands and arms are now back at his side as he gapes at the figure.

The gray haired pitcher –_Gray, I think_—is the one who had tackled him, mistaking Rusty for a rival player. Rusty tries to slow his heart. Gray stares up at Rusty for a second, looking as if anger boils in his eyes, but then it passes, and he does something surprising.

Gray smiles at Rusty, swiping a drop of blood from his chin. He rises to his feet, a happy expression etched on his face, though there is something else in it. Almost like embarrassment.

"Pretty good for a kitty pet, I guess." Rusty knits his eyebrows together, wondering what he's talking about. _Kittypet? As in, like a cat?_

Rusty's mouth hangs open yet again, thinking about words that could come from his mouth. All he can come up with is: "What?" Gray's grin becomes wider at this, closing the distance between them and wrapping an arm around Rusty's shoulder. Rusty winces in pain as his back screams. The boy next to him is not light.

"A kittypet. You've never heard of that before?" Rusty nods, ducking out of the boy's grasp. Gray shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets. "It means someone who's from Bridgeville. A kitty, you know, like you're lazy, and you're kind of a pet to your parents, since they have all the money. Hence the term Kittypet."

Rusty clears his throat, not sure if he can take offense to the insult. It is accurate to many that go to Bridgeville. "Ho-how did you know I was from Bridgeville?" the gray haired boy makes a motion for Rusty to follow him. Rusty complies, rubbing his wrist.

"Your uniform. Everyone from that school goes to Bridgeville. Just took me a few minutes to realize that." Rusty nods, glancing at where Gray is taking them_. The field_? He thinks as his feet hit the dirt ridden dugout. Rusty sees a spattering of blood on the ground, and he reaches up to rub his cheek. There's only a small cut spanning just below his eye, but it's still causing a small stream to erupt from it.

Gray notices Rusty's fingers caressing the cut and scoffs. "Seriously, try to hide the fact that you've never been hurt in your life." he walks to the bench and unzips a purple backpack, pulling a white rectangular object. It pops open, and he extracts a thin, small band-aid. "Here," he says, holding it out.

Rusty takes it angrily, wrapping it around the cut quickly. "I've been cut lots of times," he says, shoving the wrapping in his pocket. Gray raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything. Before Rusty can say something else, he picks up a bat and shoves it in the red haired boy's arms.

"Go to home," he commands, enveloping his arm in a well-worn glove. Rusty raises an eyebrow, a question forming on his lips.

"Why?"

Gray doesn't look at him as he leaves Rusty behind, setting an upheaval of dirt on his way to the pitcher's mound.

"I want to test you, kittypet. You play a lot, don't you?" he asks, glancing at Rusty. Rusty nods, swinging the bat to one shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess. I'm on a team of two with my friend." Gray steps onto the mound and kicks at it with a toe, a grim expression settling in on his face. Rusty is surprised at how fast he changes his attitude.

"That's great; now are you going to hit, or what?" Rusty nods, jogging to home. He stands to the right of the plate, swinging the bat just a miniscule amount in front of him. _I'm ready_, he thinks, steadying the bat. Rusty is glad that all the other coaches and players are gone. He doesn't want them see him embarrass himself, but mostly he doesn't want them all to tackle him like Gray did. He is starting to fear that the rumors Smudge heard from Henry are true.

But as Rusty is deep in thought, the ball has already sprung past his face, landing loudly in the fence behind him. He widens his eyes, staring down at his hands. _What just happened?_

"Come on, give me more competition," Gray taunts from the pitcher's mound, sprinting towards Rusty to gather the ball. He sweeps it up and jogs back, throwing the ball up into the air and catching it.

"I could've thrown it to you, you know," Rusty says, hitting the bat against his foot. _You can do this, Rusty._

"I didn't want you to make yourself seem more pathetic than you already are," Gray responds, already preparing for the next throw. Rusty swings his bat up, his eyes focused on the ball this time. _To the mitt. Back in the arc. Now it's coming! _

As the ball hurtles towards him, Rusty locks his gaze on it. All time slows down. The sounds of outside dim, and instead of cackling birds and scuttling squirrels, Rusty can only hear the sound of crackling energy in the air. _He's really good!_

And as he starts his swing, expecting a home run, the ball sweeps past, almost as if taunting. _What?_ He thinks, his body already in full swing. It spins him around, sending an array of dirt up into the air.

"Man!" Gray yells from the mound, not quite smiling. But Rusty can see the taunting in them. _I'll do it this time for sure! _

He picks the ball up from the ground and spins it in his hand, glancing at the seams. He realizes that he can hit it, just as long as he stays focused and ignores Gray's power. Without thinking, he sends the ball in a long throw to Gray, settling at home before the pitcher catches it.

He narrows his eyes, Gray disappearing from view. Just the ball, in all its glory, is in Rusty's gaze. Almost as if in slow motion, it leaves Gray's hand, straight towards his bat. _Why was this so hard before?_ He thinks, the bat moving in a forward arc, though not in slow motion as the ball is.

As Rusty is staring at the ball, he sees the exact moment that the metal strikes it, sending it overhead. Farther than Gray. Farther than second. Farther than third.

It finally lands in front of the large rock, just barely inside the fence. Rusty smiles at this, numb to everything still around him._ I hit it! I hit that amazing fast ball! _

He is still in a loopy happiness when he feels a pat on his back. "That was great, kittypet! You're better than some on my team, though you shouldn't tell Bluestar that. She'll rip my head off."

Rusty barely registers some of the words, but two stick out. _You're better_. Gray actually thinks he's good, and a proud heat expands in the bottom of his stomach.

"Excuse us if we're interrupting," a voice says, the sharp bravado ringing across the field. Gray's eyes widen in fear and he turns quickly to the direction of the voice. Rusty does as well, though not as quickly.

In front of them, positioned in the dugout, leaning up against the fence, are the two coaches. One of them; the one who told Gray to keep his fastballs the same, is the one with golden yellow hair. The other is the one who spoke to the team about Redtail. She hair bright blue hair, and Rusty assumes she is the Bluestar Gray was talking about.

"Er- sorry Bluestar," Gray says, bowing his head to the coach. Rusty raises an eyebrow, glancing between the boy and the woman. While he is wondering if the blue haired girl even knows that he's there, she addresses him.


End file.
